


The Crisis

by Curreeus



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:01:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25906288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Curreeus/pseuds/Curreeus
Summary: Ms Pauling and Spy are up to something that involves wearing pretty dresses and going undercover, and Sniper is a bisexual mess.
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s), Sniper/Spy (Team Fortress 2)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 41





	The Crisis

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [That Marriage is a Spy!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15162842) by [Emyria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emyria/pseuds/Emyria). 
  * Inspired by [A fake marriage of inconvenience](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25236304) by [L_is_tired](https://archiveofourown.org/users/L_is_tired/pseuds/L_is_tired). 



> -Appears after several years absence with Starbucks, a new fandom, and a new ship-  
> Whoops  
> This was inspired by the glut of Sniper/Spy fake marriage fics going around right now. Eventually we gonna have some fake dating boys, strap in.  
> I'll update tags as we progress, not sure exactly what elements of my plan are going to make it in just yet - please enjoy!

Sniper was having a crisis.

Not a mid-life crisis, although he was sure he was due for one of those soon, and not an existential crisis, because he was quite happy with himself and his profession, thankyou very much.

No, it was a crisis over Spy.

Not a sexual crisis, absolutely fucking not.

…

Alright, maybe a little bit. But not in the bog-standard way men have crises about other men.

Sniper was no stranger to Spy. The man was moody and petty and vicious and acted more like a cat than the old tabby his family'd had when he was little. He liked to stir the pot and watch the results with a smug grin, and he was such an incurable stickybeak it was like he lived off of information alone. He liked being in the way when he wasn’t welcome, and was nowhere to be found if he was needed, and was instead usually off somewhere tending to his own agenda. Sniper could never be sure of his true feelings on any matter at all - except for his icy contempt for whoever had earned his ire on any given day.

He wasn’t a  _ nice _ person. But aside from all that, while Sniper encountered the other team’s sneaky counterpart quite a lot and held a lot of resentment for him, he’d had little opportunity to cross paths with his own team’s Spy outside of the occasional nod in the hallway.

That is, until now. 

Sniper usually kept to the camper unless he absolutely had to, so on that one clear evening he was found on the roof of the van, rifle scope detached and in hand, waiting for the sun to go down so he could catch the first few stars of the night. 

He’d picked up stargazing as a hobby years ago, and since moving to the States he’d kept it up - the sky was entirely different up here than it was in Oz, but the principal was the same, and it kept his eyes sharp.

He’d settled in for the long haul, and had even brought up a rug to sit on while he enjoyed the bounty of the care-package his mum had sent through a few days ago - it was nice, the confirmation that while his parents weren’t the fondest of his profession, they cared enough to send him little tastes of home every now and again. 

The States were great, for the most part, but there was something special about being able to have Vegemite on toast for brekky and a cup of Milo for smoko, or right before bed.

What was also nice was the small collection of his mum’s savoury baked goods recipes she’d included, as well as the dried gum-leaves she’d tucked down the sides so that the whole package smelt like a warm summer evening at home… and so he could make proper billytea again.

It was such a comfort that he could have cried. If he did that sort of thing.

With his scope to his eye, the remains of his attempt at a homemade pasty sitting beside him on some greasepaper - a reasonable attempt, but not as good as his mum's - and his canteen of billytea sitting on the other side, still steaming, he gave a sigh of contentment and scanned the purple-orange line of the horizon - before he heard a sudden shrill yell from the base and quickly, out of instinct, turned towards it.

Probably nothing to be concerned about, the base emitted strange sounds all the time. Sounded like Soldier making a mountain out of a molehill again, if he were honest.

What did catch his eye however, as he swung the scope down to follow the horizon line out again, were the two figures leaving the base, seeming like they were trying to be secretive about it.

One of them, Sniper affirmed after a brief glance at their gait and dress, was likely Ms Pauling. He hadn't known she was on base that evening but stranger things had happened. She was dressed up nice too, he’d never seen her out of uniform before but she looked about ready to spend the night on the town. Good for her, she needed a break.

The other figure… was a bit more confusing. 

It had a similar posture to Spy, ramrod straight back and an air of pseudo-royalty. It was the same height as Spy, a few inches taller than Ms Pauling when they stood next to each other. By all means, it should have been Spy.

But as he focussed on the form and his gaze swept up the shape, it was… decidedly not  _ shaped _ like Spy. 

Instead, to his surprise and enough shock to make him nearly drop his scope, the figure was one of the most perfectly hourglass-shaped women Sniper had ever seen, and he felt his mouth drop open in awe.

This  _ couldn’t  _ be Spy. 

Spy always looked one cigarette away from keeling over right in front of Sniper, particularly if he had to run for any length of time. What Sniper was fairly sure he didn’t have hiding under his fancy dacks were legs that… well, he’d never been much of a legs man, but these were  _ very _ nice. They didn’t go on forever or anything like that, but they were shapely, and he could almost imagine the soft -shush shush- of the fabric where they disappeared under a full navy skirt that was just a little too short. Flirtily so.

As the skirt narrowed into her waist the comparative swell of her hips was wide enough to make him take a sharp inhale, and all of a sudden he was itching to feel the press of soft skin under his fingers as he circled his hands around that waist, feel the warmth of her skin through that blue-grey silk blouse.

As she turned back towards the base, looking at the door to see if anyone had followed, he was treated to the fact that the blouse had a V-neck that dipped low enough to make him swallow, hard. 

Who the  _ bloody hell _ was this?

But the icing on the cake, the thing that really did him in was her face. 

She had a rosy complexion and high cheekbones, full red lips and dark makeup around her eyes, but he couldn’t get over how she’d somehow inherited Spy’s sharp chin and roman nose. She was just enough Spy to confirm that it was in fact their own spook who was playing dress up, just like he usually did, because unless Medic had suddenly gained the ability to build sheilas in his basement, the only other person on base able to fabricate an entire woman on demand was Spy. Not that he’d seen him do it before but he wouldn’t put it past him.

Strewth, but that view was a sight for sore eyes, even if it wasn’t real.

Too late, he saw the last fading rays of the sun send the sharp reflection of his scope bouncing off the chrome finish of the car, and he saw the Spy-sheila snap her head sideways to look at it. 

Bugger.

Slyly, she turned, just the slightest hint of a smile sliding mischievously onto her ruby red lips, and made direct eye contact with him through his scope.

Sniper felt his breath catch in his throat, and then, almost as though it was happening in slow motion, she honest to goodness  _ winked _ at him.

Sniper felt most of his higher brain function shut down, and he pulled the scope away from his eye just in time to see the two tiny figures disappear into the car and vanish into the distance in a plume of desert-coloured dust.

Sniper just sat there, dumbfounded, until the sun really had vanished over the horizon and the only evidence it had been there was a dull greyish glow in the distance. 

Well he wasn’t going to get any good stargazing done now. Not while this crisis presented itself.

He wasn’t confused about what his dick had taken interest in, for the record. He'd known since he was sixteen that even though he liked girls well enough, he also liked a good looking bloke in all the ways that made him a queer, and had long ago accepted it as part of himself. Society thought lots of things that existed as part of him were strange anyway, and he'd never paid a lot of heed to societal norms. It didn't matter to him what Spy was packing in his jocks, he just knew that, for however brief a moment, he'd  _ really  _ wanted to see.

The problem was that it was  _ Spy. _

Even if he was dressed up and wearing a skirt, even if whatever disguise he'd put on was wonderfully feminine and easy on the eyes, underneath it all it was still the very male Spy. He knew that. And he knew that Spy knew that he knew that.

Of all the people he didn’t want to have an advantage over him, even if that advantage was just “I know you have a bit of a taste for men now and again, and one of those men might be me wearing a dress”, it was absolutely the man who made a living off of knowing everything.

It didn’t matter that Spy had acknowledged him in any way, he just had to keep it under wraps until the whole thing blew over. 

It was probably for some sort of mission, right? Like those contracts Ms Pauling had them all doing a while back. 

So it would definitely blow over. Whatever Spy and Ms Pauling were up to would be over quick, those two were efficient professionals and his bet was on Spy not wanting to go out dolled up as a sheila more than he had to.

Sniper took a large sip of his now-lukewarm eucalyptus flavoured tea and frowned.

Time to put it out of his mind.

If he could.

**

To be fair, Sniper had never been a betting man.

It did  _ not _ blow over, at least not within the next week.

Several times - seemingly, whenever he popped into the base, whether it was for a meeting or coffee or because Medic wanted to see him or whatever - Spy seemed to absolutely have it in for making him as uncomfortable as possible.

Whether it was one of those fancy horse-race hats - he hadn’t understood what had been so fascinating about them til now - left on a chair somewhere, or the flash of a skirt disappearing around a corner, or even the slightest whiff of perfume - probably some of that toffy Chanel shit, his brain supplied frustratedly - Sniper kept catching glances of…. of  _ her. _

Spy was far too careful for these to just be accidents, which meant he was doing this on  _ purpose. _

Did the man have no shame?

Just because Sniper wasn’t going to try and shoot Spy for wearing a dress doesn’t mean everyone on the base shared his opinions. There are cities Sniper had been to where a man just wearing the wrong scent of aftershave could get him shanked. 

Although to be fair, everyone around here knew that Spy was the one who was usually doing the shanking. 

It all culminated one night when Sniper had been in the limited kitchen the base had, warming up milk for his pre-bed Milo - his stovetop had carked it and he was also getting onto Engie to fix it - and as he was making his way down the halls to head out to his camper, he encountered the two figures from the other evening up close and personal.

Ms Pauling really had dressed herself up nicely. She was normally pretty well put together but she was really outdoing herself with the wide-collared, short sleeved, lilac coloured cocktail dress she was wearing. 

But right behind her… was  _ her.  _ God she was even more confusing to look at up close, and even though Sniper was holding a warm mug of Milo he suddenly didn’t know where to put his hands. Or eyes.

She was wearing a very similar outfit to the last time he’d seen her, and this close he could confirm that the soft fabric of her skirt did in fact -shush shush- gently against her stockinged legs. This time she had a maroon ensemble, similarly wide-necked and short sleeved as Ms Pauling, but with long elbow length gloves to match. 

This he ascertained from a brief glance, because he didn’t even need to look at her face to see the cheeky upturn of her mouth, sending warmth straight into the pit of his stomach, and he knew that making eye contact would be a dangerous game, and one that he might lose like a fly in a spider’s web.

He resolutely decided not to look at her.

“G’devning Ms Pauling, how're you travelling?” 

She smiled warmly at him, returning the nod of the head he’d given.

“We’re ok! We’re just coming back from taking care of a job in town. It’s real cold this time of night, do you guys have the heat on?”

Sniper cocked his head thoughtfully, taking one hand away from his mug to rock it back and forth in an indication of “maybe”. “It’s not too cold in the rec room, I reckon you could warm up in there for a bit, if you don’t mind the conversation. Engie's got a new pet project."

He nervously returned her smile, the curiosity of the past week catching up with him.

“Allowed to give any info on what it is you’re doing out on the town?”

She just shook her head, putting a finger to her lips cheekily, and he shrugged with resignation. 

“Alright then, darl. Worth a shot.”

She sidled past him, heading down the hallway towards the rec room.

“See you later Sniper!”

Her footsteps faded away, and swallowing heavily, Sniper turned back to face the figure that had not moved.

He was right, her eyes were like bullets, or tranquiliser darts - once he met her gaze, he was absolutely paralysed.

Her deep blue eyes were narrowed, examining him, and he knew that no matter how hard he tried to hide it, she could tell his breathing had picked up. Just like Spy, she was like an apex predator, and he was exactly where she wanted him. This hallway was too damn narrow for an escape now.

She smiled smugly, the expression fitting onto her face like it was made to be there, tucking her hands behind her back and strutting up to him like she was a flirtatious little girl.

God, the sway of her hips should be illegal, especially in a dress that hugged her waist so tightly.

Fortunately, before his brain could supply something stupid, like “ _ I wish I was that dress”,  _ she placed a hand on his chest and it short circuited and died so messily that Engie and Medic combined wouldn’t have been able to bring it back. 

She cocked her head. The gentle waft of her perfume rolled over him, and idly his brain checked a box of “yep, definitely that toffy Chanel shit”.

“I don’t think we’ve met - I am Valerie, pleased to make your acquaintance, Monsieur Sniper.”

Oh, that little  _ shit… _ almost on autopilot, he nodded his head at her and muttered an aborted greeting under his breath as he looked down at his shoes, almost obscured by the fullness of her skirt.

She slid one hand up his chest to his chin, bringing his eyes back up to hers, and he had to make an effort to keep breathing in, feeling like a possum caught in the jaws of a snake as she smiled up at him.

“Now, Sniper,  _ mon cher, _ ” she drawled, the ‘r’ in Sniper rolling on for a beat too long. “...Could I bother you terribly for a light?”

She didn’t even wait for a response. Like she knew where it was - which, knowing Spy, he, or rather she, absolutely did - the well manicured fingers of the other hand slid from where they were resting on his chest and dove down into the breast pocket of his shirt, curling around his lighter much more slowly than they needed to. She pulled it out, and ever so slowly, pulled it up to the cigarette in the cigarette holder that had suddenly appeared between her red lips.

Where did it come fr- you know what, he didn’t want to ask.

She puffed gently as it lit, then took a drag and blew it up at him, making him blink.

Yep, that was definitely Spy’s brand of expensive imported cigarette. Mixed with the distinct scent of that damn perfume.

_ God _ his dick was confused right now.

“Thanks ever so much,  _ darl _ …”

The lilt of her French accent just made everything so much stranger, and he felt like his skin was getting set on fire as she gently pulled one hand away from the death grip he had on his mug and pressed the lighter back into it.

Then she was strutting off down the hallway, hand on her hip, smoke trailing lazily behind her.

And Sniper realised that this crisis might be a little harder to fix than he thought. 


End file.
